


The Old Guard

by storyknitter



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Originally Posted on Tumblr, let's be real - it's mostly angst, speculation fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 04:17:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14276721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyknitter/pseuds/storyknitter
Summary: A series of ficlets in which Vassanna uses Theron’s Old Red Jacket™ as comfort (or at least that’s how this whole mess started), starting with Ziost and ending with speculation fic of what happens after Theron comes home from the Order of Zildrog.





	1. Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout from Ziost affected everyone differently.

The  _Defender_ was eerily silent as it raced through hyperspace to Tython, despite its extra passengers. The only sounds came from the lower deck, the medical bay bustling and full of patients. Master Surro was quiet, finally asleep, and Master Onok was floating in the kolto tank. Master Landai had just finished her rotation in the kolto and Doc inspected the Mirialan Jedi with regret in his eyes.

Theron sat in the corner of medbay, quiet and unobtrusive, keeping a watchful eye on what remained of the Sixth Line. Beings who had trusted his intel – had trusted him – and suffered the consequences.  _There’s a reason I work alone_ , he thought morosely.  _Fewer people get hurt that way_.

There was something in the compassionate and careful way Doc was handling these patients, as though he’d seen it before and knew how close they were to shattering from the wrong look, the wrong touch. The spy couldn’t quite put his finger on it but filed the observation away to process later, when he was more capable of thinking analytically.

Kira’s hand on his shoulder dragged him from his thoughts; she jerked her head to the side and walked out into the hallway. With one last glance around the room, Theron stood and followed.

“I need you to do something for me, okay? Actually, it’s for Vee.” Kira looked at him, a frown on her face and arms crossed over her chest. “She went back down to Ziost while we were getting the Sixth Liners set up here–”

“What?” he hissed. “Why the hells would she go  _back_ –”

“Theron, come on. You know Vassanna well enough by now – she’s stubborn and has to try to save everyone. D’you think I wouldn’t have tried to talk her out of it if I’d realized? I would’ve at least gone with her, so she wasn’t alone.” The red-haired woman sighed. “Look, will you just go talk to her? She’s not talking to me and… I’m getting a little worried.” Ducking his head in understanding, he turned towards the staircase.

“Wait.” Theron glanced over his shoulder at the Jedi, and she continued, “She’s got some skeletons in her closet… and they won’t leave her alone. I can’t say more, it’s not my place, but… you should know.”

His brows knit together as he nodded, taking the steps to the flight deck two at a time.

* * *

Theron leaned against the door frame to the Defender’s bridge, arms and legs crossed casually, watching Vassanna for a moment. She had showered when she’d arrived on the ship after her sojourn to Ziost’s surface; her long, dark hair was damp and hanging loose down her back and she’d changed out of her customary armor. The young Jedi Battlemaster sat in one of the navigator’s chairs, legging-clad knees tucked to her chin, arms wrapped around them, and lower lip caught between her teeth. He expected her to have noticed him by now – hear him, sense him, or whatever else Force-users did – but Vassanna was clearly lost in her own thoughts.

As Theron waited, the moment stretched out. Long minutes passed as she sat, still and staring into hyperspace with a hauntingly vacant look on her face, oblivious to everything around her. Her breathing was uneven, as though trying not to cry, and she was trembling.

He stood there, uncertain. He wanted to hug her close, to kiss the vacant look from her face, to make her laugh, but did she even want to have anything to do with him? Vassanna wouldn’t have been anywhere near Ziost had he not screwed up so badly, had he not requested help from her.

His thoughts drifted to destiny, the Force, and fate. Was everything truly orchestrated by something he couldn’t feel or see? Out of all the ships in the galaxy to pick up his emergency broadcast, why was it hers? Why was she always the one coming to his aid, standing by his side? How long would their paths intertwine? The smallest thread of  _what if_  had begun to weave itself into his daydreams…

Wracked by a large shudder, Vassanna gasped out a deep, shaky breath and her fingers came up to cover her mouth.  _I can’t just stand here, waiting, while she’s hurting_ , he thought. Prodded into action, he shrugged off his jacket and crossed the expanse between them.

Approaching her gently, Theron rested the still-warm red leatheris over her shoulders. Vassanna snapped out of her reverie with a jolt, her head whipping around to look at him, eyes taking longer than usual to focus on his face. He brushed a loose tendril of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear with a sad smile. “Hey there. Credit for your thoughts?”

She snorted, her mouth twisting bitterly. “Keep your credits; you don’t want to know.” Her fingers sank into the lapels of his jacket and pulled the well-worn garment tighter around herself, eyes drifting back to hyperspace. “Thank you.” Her words of dismissal were quiet, barely above a whisper, and emotionless. Empty.

A spike of unease shot through him. Theron frowned and leaned back against the console, crossing his arms as a hush descended upon the bridge again.

“Why would you go back down there, Vassanna? What were you  _thinking_?”

Silence served as her only answer and it blanketed the entire bridge. He was about to ask again, louder, when she finally spoke, her voice as dull and lifeless as the planet they’d left behind.

“I had to try, Theron; I had to be sure. There were survivors on Uphrades. I’d hoped…” She trailed off, her focus still on their path through the stars, and anxiety pooled into dread in his stomach. Even after the fiasco with his ancestor on Yavin, when the Emperor had returned, she’d never been as listless as she was now.

“Would you just  _look_ at me?” His concern manifested as irritation and she ignored his request. Theron sighed and knelt in front of her, tuning out the aches and pains that wracked his body – aching knees and shoulder, bruised ribs, numerous cuts and scrapes, along with a headache that throbbed with every beat of his heart. But none of that mattered, not right now.

He reached up, cradling her cheek against his palm as he struggled to make eye contact. “C'mon, Vassanna, talk to me. Kira’s worried, Doc’s worried –  _I’m_  worried.”

She glanced at him, grief and shame clear on her features. Barely meeting his eyes before quickly looking to the side, she pulled back from the comforting warmth of his hand. Theron opened his mouth, but couldn’t find any words that seemed… right. For her, for the situation, for anything. Sitting back on his heels, he rested his hands on his thighs with another sigh.

_She’s got some skeletons in her closet_ …

“Vassanna. Please, just… look at me.” Theron held out his hands, palms up, and tried again to make eye contact. “Can I hold your hands?” Doc’s gentle actions with the other Jedi in medbay tugged at something in his mind, but Theron still couldn’t make the puzzle piece fit, so he pushed it aside to focus on her. “You can say no if you don’t want me to touch you.”

Vassanna finally,  _finally_ met his gaze, confusion and surprise written on her face. With the smallest of nods, she shifted, sitting cross-legged; unclenching her fisted hands, she gingerly rested them in his outstretched palms. Releasing a breath he didn’t notice he was holding, Theron wrapped his warm fingers around hers and pressed her hands to his lips.

“Hey, look at you. You’re not shaking anymore.” One corner of his mouth quirked up and his thumbs rubbed the back of her hands comfortingly.

“It’s a great jacket; very warm,” she said. A ghost of a smile wafted across her face. “Just like the man who usually wears it.”

Theron’s chest tightened at the small glimpse of the Vassanna that he knew peeking out from this husk of a woman before him. He kissed her viridian fingers once more before resting them tenderly in her lap.  _She’s always saving everyone else, but when was the last time someone took care of her?_

Before he could blink, Vassanna had launched herself forward, her lips capturing his roughly. As her cool fingers found their way into the hair at the nape of his neck, Theron returned the urgent kiss, slipping his arms under the jacket still resting over her shoulders, twisting the back of her dark purple sweater in his hands as he hauled her to his chest.

As she slammed into him with a pleased hum, Theron felt his balance shift slightly too far. A quick thought of  _oh shit_  flashed through his mind as he fell backward, pulling Vassanna with him, her arms still wrapped around his neck and her legs tangled together. Unable to catch her own weight, she landed on top of him, reopening his split lip and putting altogether too much pressure his injured ribs. Theron couldn’t hide a grimace or a hiss of pain and instinctively jerked back, rapping the back of his head onto the durasteel floor of the bridge with a yelp.

“Oh no! Oh Theron, I’m so sorry,” Vassanna cried, scrambling backward and helping him to sit up. “Are you alright? I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’m sorry,” He watched her face crumble as she inspected his wounds, violet eyes tracing the outline of his implants and the bruising and burns that he knew surrounded them, as well as the other assorted injuries he’d accumulated planet-side.

“Hey, this is my fault, Vassanna, not yours. I’m the one who lost my balance.” He gingerly licked his lip, tasting blood, and tried to suppress a wince; from the look on her face, he’d failed in that measure.

Vassanna reached out and carefully wiped away the blood trickling from Theron’s lip before dropping a soft kiss on his cheek. “I can’t heal you myself – the Force didn’t see fit to gift me with that – but I can at least apply some kolto gel for you. I’ll be careful, I promise.” She stood, extending her arm with a sad smile.

Theron was grateful for her help: Without the assistance from his implants, and the adrenaline crash, his muscles had begun to stiffen and his ribs were screaming. Grasping Vassanna’s hand, he soon found himself standing, her arm intertwined with his, lending support and bringing them enticingly close. On their way out the door, she held out her other hand and called upon the Force to pick up the red leatheris from where it had fallen on the floor in a heap. She slung it over her shoulder, giving him a small smile.

“Wouldn’t want to forget this. Not that we’ll arrive at Tython in the next five minutes, but still.”

The pair walked slowly to the medical bay, arm in arm. Vassanna was as good as her word when they arrived, gentle and delicate in her application of the medical gel to his wounds, completely focused on her task. Theron was glad to see some of the usual spark back in her eyes, though there was still a tightness in her features. He wanted nothing more than to see her smile again,  _really_ smile.

Theron caught her chin in his hand and met her eyes. “Hey, just so you know, I’m… I’m here if you need anything. If you want to talk… or not. Or, um…” He trailed off, unsure. Vassanna cast a furtive glance towards Doc and his patients, but no one was paying attention to the Battlemaster and her spy. She placed her hand on his cheek and kissed the undamaged corner of his mouth.

“Thank you,” she said, lips lightly brushing his. “I’m… I’m alright now, I think. But thank you. For everything.”

As she pulled back, Vassanna gave Theron a shy smile; it was the first one he’d seen of late that had reached her eyes and his heart tripped and stuttered at the sight of it.


	2. Caf & Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years is a long time.

Vassanna answered the knock on the door with a shouted, “It’s open,” and turned around to see Theron enter, carrying two drink cups with a couple of datapads tucked under his arm as the door slid shut behind him.

“Morning, Vassan– er, Commander. I come bearing intel on those Star Fortresses and something to drink,” he said, holding up a lidded travel cup with a wink. “Thought we could chat before the meeting with Lana if you’d like.”

“Theron, please. ‘Vassanna’ is just fine. ‘Commander’ is odd and… definitely something I’m going to have to get used to,” she said as she walked over to meet him, a smile creeping onto her face, “And yes, I would like.” Inhaling deeply, she sighed as she reached for the cup. “Did you bring me caf? You’re amazing.”

“Uh…of course I did,” he replied, extending the other cup to her instead.

She cast Theron a skeptical glance, pointing out the obvious tag hanging on a string from the side of the lid – a tell-tale sign of the contents of her cup. “So you’ve started drinking my favorite tea in the last five years, then?” Vassanna asked archly.

“Maybe I was just in the mood for it this morning and handed you the wrong cup.” Theron pointedly ignored her comment about the tea being her favorite. Like hells he was going to admit how much he’d done – and how many credits he’d spent – to acquire a box of it for her. Zakuul’s blockades made everything difficult to procure, and he didn’t want Vassanna to feel as though she owed him anything. Though he had to admit, he was hoping for a better reaction than skepticism.

“You. Tea. First thing in the morning?” Her eyes narrowed playfully as she struggled to keep from smirking. “Who are you and what have you done with Theron Shan?”

He sighed in defeat. “Fine, I didn’t realize you drank caf now, okay? Or at least, that you were  _excited_  about drinking caf.” She chuckled at his sour expression, as well as how her view of the caffeinated beverage had changed over the last few months.

“Yes, caf has grown on me – with milk. I still can’t drink it black.” Her nose wrinkled delicately at the memory. “But I do love tea, and this was very thoughtful. Thank you.”

“Sure you don’t want the caf? I don’t mind–”

“Theron. Thank you for the tea. It’s wonderful,” she said with a smile. To change the subject, she took a sip and continued, “Is that a new jacket? It looks good on you. It’s different, but I like it.”

“Thanks,” he said with a smirk. “And it’s sorta new. Well, not really. It’s new to you; I’ve had it for a couple years now.”

“Right. Of course.” As he watched, the amusement slid off her face and her eyes went unfocused, her mind drifting to the five missing years of her life and everything that had happened while she slept.

“Vassanna?” Theron’s free hand cupped her cheek, thumb gently skimming her skin, and he met her gaze in an attempt to pull her back to the present.

“Sorry.” She blinked and shook her head slightly, as if to dispel the thoughts rattling around and gave him a confused look. “But wait. You were wearing the old red and white one when you got here.” As she spoke, she inspected the newer jacket. It was still red, but the color was softer, dustier, with black and brown accents. It was clearly broken in and well-loved; the stiff, new look was missing and she could see slightly worn patches at the cuffs.

A flush crept slowly up Theron’s cheeks and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, to be honest, I wasn’t sure how you’d reacted to the carbonite, with the poisoning and all, and I didn’t know what the cure would do to you. To your mind, your memories.” The words spilled out, haltingly, as though he’d thought them a thousand times but had never actually spoken them aloud.

“Lana– Lana said you never asked about me. And you didn’t respond to my message either, and… well, memory loss can be a side effect and, um, I wanted to do what I could to be sure that you remembered…” He took a deep breath and rushed out the rest of his sentence before he could lose his nerve. “… that you remembered me.”  _Because I never forgot you_.

Vassanna blinked in surprise at his confession and, in an attempt to rein in the emotions that threatened to run rampant through her heart, grabbed hold of both their cups and placed them on the desk next to her. She took a deep breath and turned back to face Theron, placing her hand on his cheek, violet eyes meeting his whiskey-colored ones. “You are unforgettable, Theron Shan. But even if my eyes couldn’t recognize your face,” her hand slid down to cover his heart and a small smile tugged at her lips, “your presence in the Force is unmistakable.”

“So I’m unforgettable  _and_ unmistakable, huh? Not great news for a spy,” he said smugly.  _Pretty sure it’s great news for_ me _, though_. He brought his hand up to cover hers and leaned forward to kiss the corner of her mouth, satisfaction swelling as her breath caught in her throat. He took a step closer and his lips brushed her cheek, just in front of her ear, before taking a steadying breath of his own. Hesitantly and hushed, he asked, “What’s it like?”

“It’s, um….” Vassanna cleared her throat nervously, pausing briefly before closing her eyes and tilting her head. “It’s…  _dazzling_. Incredible. It’s warm and bright and … so very  _you_.” A serene smile lit her face as she spoke and she opened her eyes, blinking as they adjusted to a different kind of light.

Theron’s hand squeezed hers before drifting to her cheek as his other arm looped around her waist. He pulled her to his chest, his lips grazing hers, almost reverently. Vassanna returned his sweet, gentle kiss with abandon, hands running up the front of his jacket to curl around the back of his neck, fingers twisting in his hair. She tasted like her tea and he caught a whiff of her shampoo, sighing contentedly. Damn, it felt good to have her in his arms again. How did he manage to go five years without her?

“I missed you, Vassanna. Hells, I missed you,” he gasped between fervent kisses. “Still can’t quite believe I’m not dreaming this.”

“Oh stars, I hope this isn’t a dream,” she responded breathlessly. “Though it would be the best one I’ve had in… in some time. I’m so very glad you’re here, Theron.”

They clung tightly to each other, completely lost to the moment, and galaxy disappeared around them. As they kissed, Theron slowly turned and shuffled Vassanna backward until she was pinned between him and the wall. His hands slipped down, coming to rest on her hips while his lips drifted to her neck, nipping at the pulse point and eliciting a sweet little hum of pleasure that was music to his ears.

“Oh please be real,” Vassanna whispered; the words slipped from her lips, threaded with despair. Theron stilled and pulled back with concern plain on his face, the raw emotions in her voice damn near ripping his heart from his chest. Meeting her eyes, he saw equal parts hope and fear; his heart ached for her, thoughts of what she’d endured while in carbonite – and continued to endure – plaguing him.

“It’s real,” Theron said, voice rough and raspy, taking her face in his hands and thumbs brushing across her tattoos lightly. “I promise Vassanna, this… this is real.” Her eyes searched his for confirmation of his words and a wobbly smile flitted across her features as she nodded slightly.

He wasn’t entirely certain what he’d meant by “this is real” – did he mean that she was awake and not dreaming? Or… that  _they_ were real, the two of them, their feelings for each other? Both? Theron studied her face: the faded and crinkled scar she’d had in every SIS dossier photo – he wondered absently how long it had graced her face – and the small diamonds drawing attention to her cheekbones. They directed his view to her eyes, violet and shining, with an outer ring of darker amethyst.  _This is real, this is real, I’m not dreaming, this is real_ …

“Then kiss me again, Theron.” Had he not been staring at her so intently, he might not have heard her, so small was her voice. He couldn’t resist her soft plea and kissed her hard, bruising lips and teeth clacking; Vassanna pulled him even closer with a muffled whimper, going on tiptoe and tugging his hair in her eagerness.

Theron poured every emotion, every hurt, every hope he’d felt in the last five years into that kiss. His fingers curled behind her neck, holding her close as his lips slanted over hers. His other hand slipped under the hem of her long, thin sweater, searching for her silky skin, only to be foiled by another layer of clingy, satiny cloth.

 _How many Force-damned shirts is she wearing?_  Theron thought, growling in frustration before yanking the offending fabric from the constraint of her belt as he felt her hips canting towards him. He barely registered the pop of a seam snapping as his calloused fingers finally danced across the cool, smooth skin of her side, sliding up–

Lana’s sharp rap on the door sent them crashing back to reality, tearing themselves away from each other, off-kilter and gasping. Theron braced his arm on the wall, resting his forehead on hers. Taking her hand in his, he laced their fingers together and pressed them to his lips.

“We still have some catching up to do, Vassanna,” he said, a wolfish grin sliding onto his face as his breathing slowed.

A second knock sounded, along with a muffled “Commander?” from the other side of the door.

“One moment please, Lana; I’ll be right there,” she called out, before quietly responding to Theron. “We certainly do. Five years’ worth, it appears.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that, you know,” he said with a wink, leaning down to tenderly give her one last peck on her cheek, his lips lingering on her skin. Vassanna flushed and ducked out of his embrace, tucking in her camisole and straightening her sweater as she crossed the room to open the door.

“Lana –”

The blonde Sith glanced over her shoulder at Theron, then back to Vassanna. There was an impish gleam in her golden eyes and a tug at the corner of her mouth that the Jedi couldn’t miss. “Shall I come back another time?”

Her cheeks burned and Vassanna swallowed back a knot of discomfort. “No, nothing that can’t be discussed later.” She stepped aside and Lana entered, taking her place on the sofa. With a bit of effort, she refocused and got the meeting underway.


	3. I'll Cover You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And thus begins a small, lovely, yet unspoken ritual between Theron and Sanna.

The ‘message received’ notification pinged Theron’s implants as he was finishing up a meeting with one of his Zakuulan contacts. When he saw who the message was from, he fought to keep a smile off his face.

 

> When you get back tomorrow, would you like to have dinner? I’ll be reviewing reports (ugh,  _forever_ ) in my quarters.
> 
> -Sanna

Theron tamped down a swell of impatience as he dragged his focus back to the rest of his mission. It would be stupid – not to mention dangerous – to get sloppy simply because he wanted to see Sanna. As soon as he was able, he responded:

 

> Wouldn’t miss it. I should be back on time, so I’ll grab us something from the cantina on my way in. Then we can both deal with reports, but hopefully it won’t take forever.
> 
> T

Theron had been off-planet for almost three weeks at this point; he also knew that more likely than not, he was going to be heading out again shortly after his arrival. Sighing with disappointment, he tried to think positively – until a few months ago, he hadn’t seen Vassanna in five long years and had believed her to be dead for two of them.

Knowing that Sanna was only a holo-call or text message away didn’t completely ease the sting of being away from her – she still felt just as out of reach during those nights as she had been while in carbonite. Theron knew it wasn’t true, but damn, he wanted to see her for more than just a few days at a time. If this intel panned out, though, the two of them would be heading to Zakuul – together.  _Yeah, it would be for Alliance business and yeah, it would be dangerous… but it would be just the two of us. I could deal with that_.

Despite his frustration, Theron couldn’t keep a smirk off his face for most of the shuttle flight back to Odessen. All that he really wanted to do was spend time with  _her_ … and it appeared she felt the same.

* * *

By the time Theron arrived on Odessen, the dinner rush was already over; the only food he was able to acquire were cold sandwiches which, while still good, weren’t quite the same as steaming hot nerf burgers and fries. It didn’t help that practically every person he’d walked past needed “just a minute” of his time, for one reason or another. Food in hand – finally – he turned towards the elevator leading to the Commander’s quarters.

Theron sighed in relief as he cast a glance around the War Room and found it nearly empty.  _I swear, if one more person stops me, I’m gonna punch ‘em in the teeth_ –

“Theron! One moment, if you please,” called out a very amused-sounding blonde Sith, as she walked in from Aygo’s military wing. He paused, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, and turned to meet his cohort.

“Lana. Good to see you.” His smile was more forced than he thought, judging from Lana’s raised eyebrow and the glimmer of mischief in her golden eyes. “Uh, hang on a sec, I have that intel we discussed…” Theron handed her one of the drink cups and began shifting around the rest of the food he was holding, attempting to dig out a data spike from one of his many jacket pockets.

“Excellent. What else did you find out about this Firebrand character? I’d love a summary of your trip, if you can spare the time.” Lana said, seemingly ignoring Theron’s clenched jaw. “We can discuss it over dinner, since you’ve so kindly brought me a sandwich. How did you know that I hadn’t eaten yet?” she asked, chuckling at his narrowed eyes. “Oh, just go have dinner with Vassanna already. She’s missed you, you know.” He fought down a broad grin as the blonde Sith handed him back the drink container.

“We can discuss business tomorrow morning, Theron. Shall I find you in the Commander’s quarters, as per usual? Perhaps 0930? I trust you won’t be as… distracted as you’ve been on prior occasions.” Theron shot Lana a look that would have melted durasteel as a flush of embarrassment crept up his neck. His relationship with Sanna – whatever it was – had to be one of the worst-kept secrets on base. And Lana had a front row seat.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” he said, voice strained. Lana gave him an innocent smile and bid him a pleasant evening, the emphasis she placed on her words causing the blush to inch up into his ears as he walked the last few meters to Sanna’s room.

Stacking the cups on top of one another and balancing the wrapped sandwiches in his arms to reach the keypad, Theron opened the door and walked in, a greeting dying on his lips. Sanna was fast asleep, balled up on the couch and lightly snoring, datapad on the floor. The corner of his mouth quirked up, realizing she was wrapped in his old red jacket, though it was far too large for her: her head was pillowed in the collar and shoulder, arms tucked to her chest, and green fingers peeked out of the sleeves, curled delicately around the edge of the cuffs.

The sound of the door latching into place behind him was enough to wake her from her nap. Vassanna’s eyes flew open with a sleepy gasp, before breaking into a sweet, contented smile when she saw Theron. She sat upright with a yawn, stretching and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Mmmm… hi,” she said in a quiet, drowsy voice.

“Hey. Nice jacket you’ve got there,” the spy said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. He set their dinner on the table and took a seat next to her as she glanced down, blushing furiously and biting her lip when she realized what she was still wearing. “It suits you, Sanna.” He ran his thumb along her jaw and leaned in, her cheek still sleepy-warm under his lips, imprints from the jacket seams sharp on the side of her face.

She snorted, a wry expression on her features. “Please. While that’s sweet of you to say, the combination of green skin and red leatheris makes me look like a Life Day decoration.”

Theron chuckled and couldn’t contain a grin. “Well,” he drawled, “you look like a very  _pretty_ Life Day decoration.”

Sanna rolled her eyes with a smile as he tugged gently on the collar to pull her into another kiss. His hand slid to the nape of her neck as his other reached for her waist, slipping under the jacket and drawing her closer. With a contented sigh, she shifted and swung her leg over, straddling his lap. Lips still pressed to his, her hands found his face, one drifting back to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck.

The flare of possessiveness that Theron felt went hand in hand with the smug satisfaction of seeing her wearing his clothing. It – whatever this relationship was turning into – felt more real for some reason. As though it were a display of her feelings, that she’d chosen him, nevermind the fact that he hadn’t really worn said clothing in ages.  _You’re really reading too much into this, Shan_ , he thought.  _It’s just a jacket_. He gently broke the kiss and pulled back to look at her, smirking to cover his thoughts.

“Just out of curiosity – is there any reason in particular you raided my closet instead of your own? I don’t mind, but if you were cold, I know you’ve got a handful of sweaters that actually fit you and aren’t monstrously huge,” he said, flicking back the edge of the collar. “And yanno, there are  _blankets_.”

“First of all,  _you_ left it here,” she said defensively, brows furrowed, and gestured to her quarters. Glancing at him briefly, Sanna bit her lip before dropping her eyes and nervously scratching the back of her ear. When she finally spoke, it was quiet, faltering. “It… your old jacket I mean, it’s– hmm. It’s comfortable? And it still smells like you. Just a little. Just enough.” She picked at the shoulder seam of his current jacket in an effort to avoid looking at him.

There was a pause that felt like an eternity before she spoke again, her voice low and timid. “And it makes it easier to fall asleep when you’re not here. I could just be making this up, I don’t know, but it feels like I–” The words tumbled out in a rush, the self-conscious blush creeping back to her cheeks as she spoke. “It feels like I dream less and sleep more.” Theron ran his thumb along her jaw again, eyes softening as he gazed at her.

“Well, if that’s the case, I did promise you that I’d keep things running smoothly. I’d say that requires a well-rested Commander, don’t you?” Vassanna peeked up at him, violet eyes meeting his below long dark lashes, and his heart stuttered as she gave him that warm smile of hers. “I’ll make you a deal, Sanna. You can keep the jacket, wear it whenever you want.”

“And what would you like in return?” A raised eyebrow accompanied her question.

 _You_ , he thought.  _Just you_. “How about dinner?” Theron suggested.

A blindingly bright grin appeared on Sanna’s face before she kissed him soundly. “You drive a hard bargain, Theron Shan, but you’ve got yourself a deal.”

* * *

That evening on Odessen was the beginning of a small and lovely – yet mostly unspoken – ritual between the pair: anytime that one had to go on a mission without the other, or would be apart for more than a day or two, Theron would wear his old jacket around their quarters so she could wear it when she was on her own.

He pretended it was solely for Sanna’s benefit, but inwardly knew the truth: he was being selfish.  _He_ rested easier and worried about her less, knowing that she had some small comfort when he wasn’t there. Maybe Vitiate wouldn’t torment her as badly while she slept. Maybe he still would, but hopefully, she’d feel better after waking up alone.

Theron had promised Sanna that he would take care of things, herself included, and he was going to do his damnedest to keep that promise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The results of the Alliance's second journey to Iokath weigh heavily on both the Commander and Theron.

Theron looked up from his datapad, cup of caf in hand, when Sanna opened the door to their quarters.

“Hey there, beautiful. How was sparring? And did you stop by the Med Center already?” He set the datapad and mug on the table and turned to face her, resting his arm on the back of the sofa.

“Sparring was fine.” A troubled look passed over Sanna’s features as she crossed the room to put away her lightsabers.

_You’re still a terrible liar, San_ , he thought sadly.

“A few of the Force users are still upset about the choice I made on Iokath. They blame me for Empress Acina’s death. Their anger, it….” She sighed heavily as she leaned her forehead against the console, eyes closed, shoulders slumping with the weight of her past decisions. “They’re not wrong,” she said quietly, before turning toward the sofa and the proffered comfort of his arms around her.

Sanna stopped in her tracks, recognizing the old red jacket that she’d long claimed as her own. He saw the confusion and concern flicker across her face and knew her thoughts had gone immediately to the tradition they’d begun for when they knew they’d be separated. “Theron, why are you wearing my jacket? Did I miss something on the calendar?”

He looked up and gave her a sheepish grin when their eyes met. “Oh. I, uh… no, you didn’t miss anything.” He rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation. “I was reading a report earlier on my way here from the War Room and might have bumped into the corner.” She raised an eyebrow as she crossed the room to stand before him, and he continued. “While holding a lidless cup of caf, which may or may not have spilled all over  _everything_ I was wearing.” Theron shook his head and chortled. “Cee-two’s absolutely giddy with excitement over laundering it all for me.”

Sanna couldn’t help but laugh at the chagrin and irritation pouring off of him in waves. “So, Agent Graceful, either the new Alliance reports from Iokath are far more riveting than the last ones that  _I_ read, or  _you_ were reading a trashy romance holo-novel.”

A hard glare and narrowed eyes met hers. “Funny.”

“Then why aren’t you laughing, love?” Sanna grinned from ear to ear and took his chin with one hand, the other resting on his shoulder. As she leaned down to kiss him, her fingers twitched and she grimaced, jerking her hands back; she cradled them to her chest with a whimper she couldn’t smother. Concern for her pushed aside his irritation as Theron jumped up and took one of her hands in his, rubbing the spasming muscles and dropping a light kiss on the inside of her wrist.

“What’d the doctors say about your hands, sweetheart? And the headaches?” Theron asked.

“It’s all normal enough, considering the amount of nerve damage I had… and it will get better eventually. I have some more pain relief gel for when the aching gets to be too much.” Sanna sighed as he continued his tender ministrations on her other hand.

“Doctor Raeth adjusted the temp implants – again – which should help with the tingling fingertips. It should also improve the headaches; she thinks I’ll only need the implants until my check-up next week. So,” she shrugged, “I suppose we’ll see.”

“It’s been over two months, Sanna. You should be better by now.” The muscles in her hands had finally stilled; Theron gently held them in his and kissed them reverently.

The guilt and sadness Sanna could sense rolling off of him was nearly unbearable. “Please stop blaming yourself for this, Theron. It wasn’t your fault. How could you possibly have known what would happen?”

“ _You_ didn’t want to sit on that Force-forsaken throne; that should have been enough. But I pushed you into it, I told you it would be fine. And it wasn’t.” Theron sighed, muttering, “‘Hope for the best.’ I can’t believe I told you that. ‘Hope for the kriffing best.’ Look where it’s gotten you.” He pulled her hands up to his lips again, resting his forehead against hers. “I wish like hells that there’d been another way, Sanna.”

“Theron. I know you were worried too; I could hear it in your voice and feel it through our bond. But it had to be done. Who knows what would have happened with Tyth and all the rest? I wasn’t about to risk the lives of everyone on Iokath – risk  _your_ life – because I was afraid. The superweapon had to be stopped, you know that as well as I.” She nuzzled his nose and placed a gentle kiss on his lips in an attempt to banish the frown that had taken up residence there.

“You and your damned self-sacrificial Jedi banthashit. I can’t– you’ve  _got_ to stop doing this to me, sweetheart,” he sighed. There was no sting or vehemence to his words, just sorrow.

Theron pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin and twining his fingers in her hair as Sanna wrapped her arms around his waist. His eyes closed and he inhaled the sweet scent of her shampoo. In a whisper so low she could barely hear it, he said, “That’s what I dream about now, you know – I hear you screaming, sitting on that damned throne before your comm shorted out. And I can’t find you. You’re calling to me, begging me to help you and… and I can’t find you. I keep searching and searching,  _everywhere_ , but your voice, it… it just gets farther away and more ragged and then it just  _stops_ and–” He took a deep, shuddering breath and his arms tightened around her.

“Oh, Theron. Why didn’t you say – oh, my love.” Sanna had no idea what to say, but her heart broke over the horror and anguish she sensed from him as he revisited one of his worst nightmares in the light of day. She squeezed him tightly, arms wrapped around his torso, and attempted to send a sense of peace and calm through their bond, though she feared it wasn’t enough.

“I don’t want this life as Commander – I never did, really.” At the abrupt change of subject, he looked down at her quizzically and she continued, “I don’t want it, Theron. I just… I want  _you_. We should go,” she said, pulling back and gazing into his whiskey-colored eyes. “Just go, leave all of this behind. Hold an election for a new leader, split up the fleet evenly between the three factions, or just destroy part of the fleet so everyone is on even footing – I don’t really know… but  _something_. And then we leave. You and me. Just…  _us_. We’ll find a nice little place, somewhere quiet and….” Sanna trailed off as the lump in her throat grew and her vision blurred.

She rested her forehead on his chest, calmed by the steady beating of his heart. Theron stood silent and still for a long moment, thinking about her proposition. She clutched the back of his shirt as her fingers twitched uncontrollably once again, and she felt another wave of regret and hopelessness from him. Brows furrowed, still thinking, Theron slid his palms down her arms, taking her hands in his, and sighed.

“Alright,” he said, after the silence had stretched into long minutes, his thumbs tracing the tattooed patterns on the backs of her hands.

“What?” Sanna’s head snapped up as she searched his features, gauging his sincerity.

“Alright. Let’s do it. Let’s leave,” Theron said, chest tightening as her lips slowly turned upwards. “Give me… I don’t know how long; there’s a lot of stuff to take care of. A couple weeks at the least. I’ll see what I can do, though.”

“Really? You’re serious? I didn’t think that you’d…” Her voice was soft with disbelief and hope.

Theron tenderly cradled her cheek in his hand, thumb absently running along her scar. “I love you, Sanna. I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, sweetheart.”

“I love you too. But this isn’t to protect me; I want a  _normal_ life. And I want to share it with you.” Sanna’s voice trailed off and she placed her hand on his wrist, tilting her head to bestow a kiss on the palm of his hand. Theron kissed her temple and pulled her closer to his chest.

“I want a quiet, peaceful life with you, Theron. I want a  _future_. An actual, normal future that has no more fighting, no more pointless death, no more worries that you’re going to go out on a mission and I’ll never see you again, that you’ll  _die_ and I–” A choked sob cut off Sanna’s rambling wishlist.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Theron said soothingly, his hand trailing up and down her spine. “And I want that too, so much. But Sanna, I– I’ve gotta keep searching for this traitor, at least for a little while. We have no idea how deep they’re embedded.” Theron felt her nod and he continued, “And… don’t say anything to Lana about leaving yet. Let me get some things lined up first, okay? I, um… I think I might have a plan.”

“Okay, love. I trust you.”

She looked up at him with the sweetest smile, one softer and more gentle than the one that usually tripped his heart; this one tore his heart to shreds. Closing his eyes, Theron wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close and resting his chin on the top of her head. He drew his hand up to curl around the back of her neck and he dropped a kiss on her forehead before returning his chin to its previous place.

“I love you, Sanna," he said, tightening his embrace.

_And I’m so sorry, sweetheart_ , he thought.  _For everything_.


	5. Aftermath

For the Commander of the Eternal Alliance, the days-long voyage home from Umbara was spent in a silent, shadowy haze of disbelief. She replayed every word, every moment she had shared with… with  _him_  for the last two years, trying to find the breaking point: the time, the place, the conversation that changed  _everything_.

She questioned every decision that she had made since she left Coruscant all those years ago to chase rumors in Wild Space.

Was it because of Iokath? No, it couldn’t be that decision, she’d sided with the Republic. He had recommended it, of course, but she’d known in her heart that – being forced to choose – she would have allied with the Republic without his recommendation and despite her alliance with Acina. The Republic was her  _home_ , the place she was raised from childhood to protect. How could she possibly side  _against_  them? Was that wrong? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

If she second-guessed that decision after all these months, perhaps he had as well. She wondered again why all three factions couldn’t have worked together, wishing for peace. It was something she continually fought for, yet always seemed just out of reach. For her. For her people. For the galaxy.

Perhaps the catalyst was the multitude of uprisings that sprang up the moment she took the Throne. She’d tried to end them peacefully, without violence, but that didn’t work.

It never worked.

Was she really that terrible a leader? After taking the Throne, she’d tried to help both her home and her allies to heal, to repair their respective societies by sending supplies to both the Republic and the Sith Empire. Zakuul was slowly moving towards democracy, so that was good, right?

_You’ve become a symbol of oppression. So much for your dreams of peace_.

Oppression? How? She didn’t understand, where did things go so very wrong?

_Remember me when your Alliance burns to ash_.

_I’ll do no such thing, you monster. Get out of my head_ , she thought viciously.  _You’re finally dead, so_ stay  _dead this time_.

“Vassanna!” Lana’s sharp voice dragged her abruptly out of her thoughts. Blinking, she absently wondered how many times the Sith had already called her name.

“You need to eat something,” the Sith said, forcing a protein bar and water bottle into Sanna’s hands. Concern was clear on her face.

“No, I need to figure this out. Where did things go off the rails, Lana? How did I ruin this? I don’t know what–” The Mirialan’s dejected sigh turned into a small grunt of pain and she looked down at her fingernails, jagged and broken. “I thought I was doing alright. At least until Iokath.”

Theron’s voice fluttered through her thoughts again.  _If that’s the cost of peace, so be it_.

“I have to repair whatever I broke, before more people die.” She paused and bit her lip, deep in thought, before meeting Lana’s eyes. “I need to try and contact him. Maybe, if I can just  _talk_  to him….”

“I’m not certain that’s a good idea.”

“I’m not sure either, but I have to try. I want you to open a galaxy-wide channel so I can send him a message.” Sanna stood, wincing, and attempted to smooth the front of her armored jacket.

“Erm, Sanna? Might I suggest that you clean up a touch before broadcasting to the entire galaxy?”

“What do you mean?” Hearing the question, the blonde’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline and she paused a moment before responding.

“I think that perhaps a sonic and a change of clothing is in order first,” the Sith said, looking Vassanna up and down. “Followed by some pain management, and then any broadcasts that you wish to make.”

“I’m fine, Lana.”

“No, you’re not. And you should be in a kolto tank instead of–”

“I  _said_  I’m fine,” she insisted through gritted teeth, earning a long-suffering sigh from Lana.

“Alright. At least let me fix your hair.” At that comment, Sanna raised her hand to her head, hissing in pain from her injuries and frowning at the disheveled state of her hair.

“Okay, go ahead. I certainly can’t do it right now,” the Jedi conceded, wincing again. “You’re right; I can’t afford to look a mess. I’ve got to appear to be the strong, confident, and indestructible leader that I  _truly_  am, right?” She allowed a rueful twist of her lips and was surprised herself at the rare bitterness coating her words. Lana gave her a pitying look before retrieving a brush and comb while Sanna sat back in the co-pilot’s chair and removed her hair clip, gingerly shaking her head and sending her long, dark tresses cascading down to the small of her back.

She heard a sharp intake of breath from behind her and carefully turned to face the blonde. “What’s wrong, Lana?”

“Your  _hair_ , it’s… it’s a bit mangled. It looks burnt, almost; perhaps from when we were–” She paused abruptly as Sanna held up a hand.

“What’s done is done; no more speculation. Not right now. Please, I can’t–” After taking a moment to compose herself, Sanna cleared her throat and forced a smile. “I needed a trim anyway – what’s the damage?” she asked as Lana inspected her locks.

“Hmm. Fortunately, not as much as I first thought. The shortest section looks to be around your shoulder blades, so you should still be able to put it up.”

Sanna nodded and reached out through the Force, pulling her saber over and holding it out to the Sith. “Just… even it out for me?”

“You can’t be serious. Vassanna Nabeshin, I’m not about to cut your hair with a bloody lightsaber. There are scissors in the med kit; give me a moment,” she replied with an exasperated sigh and rolled eyes.

The two women were silent as Lana worked with the scissors, long swaths of dark hair pooling on the floor of the shuttle. Vassanna finally broke the companionable quiet with a small huff of laughter.

“Lana Beniko: Sith Lord and Advisor to the Commander of the Eternal Alliance by day, secret hair stylist by night.” The woman in question snorted.

“Can you imagine? You’re lucky that it’s a mostly-straight line.” She chuckled, standing back to inspect her work with a satisfied nod, and announced, “Well, it’s not quite perfect, but you do look more than presentable, Commander.”

_You’re gonna look great sitting on that throne_. Theron’s voice slipped into Sanna’s ear, as though he were standing behind her instead of Lana, and her hand flew up to her lips, containing a sob.

“Vassanna?”

“Everything he said to me… was he planning this the whole time?” It was an anguished whisper, thick with unshed tears.

“I couldn’t say.” Lana rested her hands on Sanna’s shoulders before continuing, “I’m so sorry, Vassanna. What can I do for you?”

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head as her Jedi Mask slipped into place. “Just set up that broadcast, if you please.”

* * *

Upon their arrival on Odessen, the Commander scheduled several meetings in an attempt to carry on as though she hadn’t left her broken heart behind on Umbara; Lana swiftly rescheduled or canceled every single one, nearly dragging Vassanna to the Medical Center. She grumbled the entire time about stubborn, thick-headed Jedi.

Floating in a kolto tank, Sanna drifted in and out of consciousness. In one of her lucid moments, she overheard Lana and Doctor Raeth discussing a slightly-censored version of what had taken place on Umbara. A small flicker of hurt and anger – another betrayal, though far smaller – passed through her as Lana confessed that the Commander hadn’t slept much on the days-long journey and when the Jedi had managed sleep, she noted, it was fitful and full of nightmares.

“I can recommend a sleep aid,” the medic replied, “but I can’t make her take it if she doesn’t want to. Nor can  _you_ , Ms. Beniko. And you can save the glare – it doesn’t intimidate me, if that’s what you’re trying.”

_Hmm… maybe that’s not a bad idea_ , Sanna mused as she floated back into darkness.  _I haven’t taken a sleep aid in years though_ ….

* * *

Sanna keyed in the access code to their –  _her_  – quarters, swallowing a lump in her throat. She walked, dazed, to the armoire to retrieve her pajamas and could feel the sleeping tablet tugging at her mind as she changed, lost in thought.

She vaguely recalled her message to Theron.  _I don’t think I sounded too pathetic when I asked him to come home. Wait, did I say something about giving him part of the fleet? No, no; that would be ridiculous_. Her eyes widened and she clapped her hands over her mouth.  _Oh no. Oh no, did I tell him that I loved him over a galaxy-wide broadcast? I think I did, oh kriff_.

She blinked, eyelids heavy, and shook her head in an unsuccessful attempt to clear the sedative-induced fog surrounding her, any lingering embarrassment fading. Giving up on remaining awake, Sanna turned towards the bed, but not before reaching back into the armoire out of more than a year and a half of habit.

Slipping into the well-worn red jacket, Sanna wrapped her arms around herself and shuffled towards the bed. Taking a deep breath, she absently noted that it still smelled like him: he  _had_  just worn it the other day, after all.

Sanna’s clouded mind finally settled the last puzzle piece into place and she froze mid-step, gasping a denial and blinking away the tears that sprang to her eyes.

“He knew then – he spilled his caf on purpose. Oh  _stars_ , he knew. And he wore it for me, he knew… he  _knew_ –” A sob wrenched itself out of her throat, then another, and another. Sinking to the floor, she hugged the warm leatheris to herself, tears streaming down her face.

Theron’s voice began to echo through her thoughts again, though the words and sentiment were far different than on the shuttle. They were sweeter, more earnest, more  _him_  – not that caricature of evil she saw in him on the train.

_I hate this traitor. I despise everything they’ve done to you… to us…_

_I’d do anything to protect you. I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, sweetheart._

_You know I love you…_

_I wanted to tell you, but I knew you’d try to talk me down_.

Sanna’s head snapped up as she read between the lines of his words, hope flaring – small but blindingly bright – in her heart. She hauled herself to her feet, struggling against the sedative as she made her way to the desk.  _I think I know how I can find him_ , she thought.  _I can talk some sense into him, get him to come home, I know it_. Yanking open the side drawer, she sifted through the contents with slow, unwieldy fingers. Her search took far longer than it should have; her limbs felt wooden, as though trudging through knee-deep mud.

When she’d successfully found one of Theron’s data spikes, Sanna turned to the large holocomm. Her eyelids threatened to remain closed with every blink and she crashed to the floor as her legs gave out, losing her fight with the sleeping tablets.  _No no no, not now! I can find him, I just need to talk to him. I can get him back, I can bring him home. I_ ….

Before she could finish her thought, Sanna was in a dreamless sleep, curled up on the floor, jacket wrapped around her and data spike clutched in her hand.


	6. Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were unexpected consequences for Theron Shan when he finally was able to return to Odessen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here be speculation fic since -- at the time of posting -- there hasn't been a canon resolution to Theron's current story arc. We'll see how canon this and the next chapter become for these two dorks after the release of 5.9.

Theron was off-duty for the evening and – thanks to Lana – without plans: the Sith had confiscated the one work datapad he’d managed to snag, issuing orders to  _rest_. With Sanna on Zakuul for some diplomatic meeting or another, he was alone for the evening. He snorted bitterly, thinking that even when Sanna  _was_ on Odessen, he may as well still be alone, for all that she spoke to him or interacted with him. It might have even been bearable… if not for the fact that in public, she treated him cordially, friendly even. The whiplash was making his head ache.

Leaning back onto the couch, he sighed. Koth mentioned something in passing about everyone getting together at the cantina, but Theron didn’t feel comfortable socializing there. Glances and stares followed him, the questions and anger and hurt all concentrated when they thought he wasn’t looking. Sometimes he could put up a facade and pretend he didn’t notice. But tonight he didn’t have the strength.

And so Theron sat on the couch in their quarters, nursing a glass of whiskey and thinking. During his stint with the Order of Zildrog, he’d discovered that time to think was dangerous: he couldn’t keep his thoughts from drifting to Sanna, as they did now. As they did every night that he spent alone in their bed – which was all of them, since his return.

It always started innocently enough: her smile, warm and caring, with that spark that lit her eyes and never failed to make his heart skip a beat. Her laughter – a shining, golden sound – that he’d heard dozens of times, but never quite enough. The feel of her arms around his neck, her cool fingers in his hair. The scent of her shampoo. Her voice, sometimes soft and sweet, sometimes mischievous.

As time went on and the longer Theron pretended to belong to the Order of Zildrog, it had become infinitely harder to conjure the good memories. His mind drifted instead toward the memories that he never wanted to relive, but couldn’t forget.

Visions of the past danced before him: her tear-streaked face as he dragged her out of yet another nightmare; the sorrow reflecting in her violet eyes over the deaths of beings that she knew, ones she felt responsible for. He heard her screaming in agony on that damned throne on Iokath, all because of those blasted fanatics and their cursed Order; felt her in his arms, sleepy and worried, saying ‘you’re drinking too much, it’s late, just come to bed.’

With ice creeping into his chest, Theron watched more of the holo-film replaying in his mind, unable to look away: Sanna’s face twisting with shock and horror, hand over her shattered heart – as he wielded the hammer; her eyes shining with unshed tears and her voice breaking with grief.

_Did you ever love me? Or was that all just part of the act?_

_Please Theron, come home._

_No, you don’t mean that, you can’t…_

Shaking his head to clear the memories, Theron let out a short, harsh bark of laughter before draining his glass. As it turned out, time to think was just as dangerous here on Odessen and had the same damned outcome. Ignoring the knot in the pit of his stomach that never really went away, he refilled his glass and grabbed a holo-novel before flopping back onto the couch. But the words scrawled across the screen wouldn’t come into focus, no matter how hard he tried.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was forgetting something important. Try as he might, he could never quite put his finger on it – his intuition was insisting that something was off, was out of place, but he couldn’t see what was missing. He found it infuriating and worrisome; the feeling had followed him through his entire time with the Order. He’d assumed it was because of his undercover work and would resolve itself if he ever made it back home, but he was wrong.

When they had left for Umbara, Theron wasn’t certain that he’d make it back to the Alliance, to Odessen… to Sanna. He’d hoped, of course, but he knew full well the dangers of undercover work. Now, though, now he was finally back, he was  _home_ – but it felt cold and empty, as though the house had burnt down in his absence and he was trying to make a home out of ash and scorched earth.

The door annunciator chimed, dragging him out of his brooding. The ringing was followed quickly by a sharp rap – clearly impatient – as he crossed the room, and yet another knock just before he keyed the door open.

Theron found himself face to face with Captain Eli’anara Nabeshin, his old duffle slung over her shoulder and a murderous look in her eye.

“Gonna invite me in, Shan?” Her words were short, clipped, and his guard sprang up immediately.

“By all means, Captain.” Theron turned and held an arm out, gesturing to the room. Vassanna’s cousin took three steps in, dropped the bag on his toes with a durasteel-melting glare, and pivoted sharply to leave.

Ellie stopped abruptly, her hands clenched into fists.  _She’s gonna hit me_. The thought flitted through his mind instinctively.  _Hmm, in the jaw, more than likely_. Theron forced himself to relax, closing his mouth and subtly tucking his chin, ready for the blow – he’d been in enough fistfights to recognize when someone was about to throw a punch.

Just as he’d expected, Eli’anara whirled on her heel, shifting her stance and sending her fist flying towards him. Theron had misjudged the hook to the jaw, however, and was soon doubled-over, coughing and gasping for breath, an ache spreading through his whole torso.  _Damn, I must be losing my touch_ , he thought, struggling to stand upright.

Ellie stepped back and leaned against the wall, arms crossed loosely over her chest and a slight smirk on her face. “I know that Sanna gave orders about ‘no reprisals’ and all that, but I’m guessing that you won’t say anything; the hangdog look on your face tells me that you think you deserve every bit of it – and then some.”

_For fuck’s sake, Shan, you’ve been a spy for half your damn life_ , he thought.  _Kriffing act like it_. Theron straightened his shoulders and frowned briefly before slipping on a neutral expression as Captain Nabeshin continued her lecture.

“The ‘Commander’ might have announced to the galaxy that she knew about your little undercover gig, that she’d approved it, and how she was oh s _o very proud_  of your  _bravery_ and  _sacrifice_.” The mockery practically dripped from her words, lip curled in disdain. “That speech was a complete load of nerf shit and you and I both know it – Sanna had no idea what was going on when you left. And you  _hurt_ her, jackass. You made her  _cry_.”

“I know,” he said, the words cold and low, dangerous.

“Do you, Shan? Do you  _really_ know?” Ellie cocked her head to the side and gestured over his shoulder towards the bedroom. “Did you see her, curled up against that wall, sobbing over  _you_ and what you did, what you’d  _said_ to her? Because I sure as hells did.”

Theron blinked in surprise and shook his head. No, he certainly hadn’t seen it, though his imagination chose this moment to be helpful, conjuring a scene like the Mirialan had described – and  _that_ sucker punch hurt so much more than the one she had just given him.

The captain nodded once in satisfaction before her smirk fell away and she became uncharacteristically serious. “That’s the last time she really, truly opened up and talked to me – to  _anyone_ , really. She’s avoiding Aunt Keth again. She’ll stop by the cantina with a bunch of us, but not for long. She’s thrown herself into this leadership role, single-mindedly. All she does is plan, review reports, spar – and then sometimes she eats and sleeps. That’s it.” The privateer’s eyes narrowed. “And it’s all  _your_ fault.”

Having said her piece, she shot Theron another glare and walked to the door, spinning around to toss one last insult at him.

“Oh, and you won’t find the rest of your 30-year in there – Sanna gave it to me, said I could have it if I wanted. It was a stellar whiskey, too,” Eli’anara smirked. “It tasted like  _honor_ and  _trust_ and–”

“Get out,” Theron snarled, stalking to the entrance, hands balled into fists.

“But I  _am_ out,” Ellie said innocently, gesturing to the door frame – she stood mere millimeters across the threshold. His hand slapped the control, closing the door, but not before she gave him a jaunty salute and a sneer.

Anger and frustration flooded Theron’s chest, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t place any blame directly at the Captain’s feet – she had simply pointed out the truth. He slammed the side of his fist against the door before resting his forehead on the cool surface. Taking a handful of deep breaths, he shoved himself away from the entry and hauled his duffle onto his shoulder before making his way to the bedroom, grabbing the bottle of lesser-quality whiskey along the way.

Theron dropped the well-worn bag with a thump at the foot of the armoire that, like the rest of the room, he nominally shared with Sanna and sat cross-legged next to the tote, setting the whiskey bottle beside him. Pulling the zipper open, he was immediately assaulted by an acrid smell and his nose wrinkled in distaste; he muttered a few expletives regarding Captain Nabeshin, the quality of her parentage, and the condition in which she stored goods.

Foregoing a glass, the spy took a fortifying swig from the bottle next to him, followed by a deep breath. Neither did anything to calm his racing heart or the tightness in his chest, so he forged on.

Drawing the top of the bag back, the first thing he laid eyes on was an expanse of red leatheris. Theron hung his head as he recognized his old jacket; Sanna clearly hadn’t found it as comforting as he’d hoped while he was gone. He held it up, half-expecting to find some sort of damage, but the only thing he saw out of place were a few strands of dark hair clinging to the inner lining.  _She wore it once, at least_ … The image of her curled up in the worn leatheris and weeping flashed in front of his eyes and he could have sworn that a vibroblade through his ribs would have hurt less.

Next out of the bag were the numerous handknit socks from Sanna’s mother. He had worn his favorite pair when they’d gone to Umbara; it was the only thing he’d allowed himself to keep from his old, comfortable,  _happy_ life. Surely, he’d reasoned, warm socks wouldn’t draw undue attention from the Order and make them question his loyalty. The socks eventually came apart from the repeated wearings; the day they unraveled in his hands was one of his worst, and tossing them in the trash as though they’d meant nothing had been just as bad.

He pulled out a number of shirts and trousers next. Unfortunately, the odor had permeated the entire contents of the duffle so far and everything went into a pile to launder – the smell was noticeable, but not overpowering.

Reaching into the tote again, Theron’s fingers brushed against something soft and silky. He frowned in confusion and grasped at it, gently tugging on the delicate fabric. Wrinkles marred the beautiful, glimmering cloth and he caught another faint whiff of that odd acrid odor as he held up the garment.

His breath caught in his throat when he recognized it as the backless shimmersilk dress she’d worn to the Victory Party on Zakuul, shortly after taking the throne. It had been balled up and stuffed in the corner of the duffle, as though she could barely stand to handle it. Theron deflated, bridge of his nose pinched between his finger and thumb, as he pictured Sanna packing up anything that reminded her of him. He sighed, folding the wrinkled gown delicately – she clearly didn’t want it hung in the armoire anymore – and set it to the side.

The duffle was nearly empty and Theron took another drink before diving back in. He was fairly sure that all his clothing was present, but he’d felt something else at the bottom.

Oh  _damn_ , was he glad that he’d taken that last drink when he had – the final item that he pulled out of the bag was Vassanna’s black and gold armored jacket and trousers. They were the source of the smell, and now that he had a reference point, Theron could make out the scent of scorched leatheris and burnt fuel. Though Sanna had worn the armor set for ages, it clearly hadn’t been used since her return to Odessen; the blaster burns and rips hadn’t been repaired and it appeared as though she’d simply tossed it into his bag as soon as she could.

Muttering a brief apology to Eli’anara and her ancestors, he shook out Sanna’s coat and reached again for the whiskey.

* * *

It was closer to morning than evening on Odessen as the door quietly swished halfway open and Sanna slipped in, the door closing and locking behind her. She paused a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dim lighting before gliding through the room on silent feet.

Despite everything, she couldn’t help but cast a glance towards the bedroom upon which she’d renounced any claim. She hadn’t slept in the bed that was too large since she’d returned alone from Umbara, preferring the sofa – there were far fewer memories there to assail her.

Climbing the steps to the bedroom to retrieve her pajamas, Sanna froze and her heart stuttered to a stop. Theron was sound asleep on the bed, wearing her – no,  _his_ – old red jacket and he had curled himself around something dark, hugging it close to his chest; she couldn’t quite make out what it was at this distance. She remained immobile as her curiosity battled against keeping him at a safe distance. Curiosity eventually won and she took a few steps closer, noting a mostly-empty whiskey bottle on the nightstand.

She gasped and her vision blurred as she recognized her black and gold armored coat in his arms, the one she hadn’t touched since… since Umbara. Sanna absently realized that Ellie must have kept Theron’s duffle all that time and had finally returned it to its rightful owner while she was off-planet.

Before she could stop herself, Sanna had reached out with the Force, lifting Theron gently off the bed far enough to tug the covers out from underneath him before returning him to the mattress. She stepped closer, leg brushing the side of the bed, and grasped the blanket in trembling fingers. As she pulled it up to tuck around his shoulders, he grabbed her hand, his eyes flickering open briefly.

“Mmm… don’t go,” he mumbled, and she felt a forlorn ache in her chest – whether it was from him or her own heart, she’d never know. “Don’t wanna wake up, not yet… miss you, San….” His grip loosened as sleep claimed him again. She clamped her free hand over her mouth to keep a sob from escaping and stood there, torn and blinking back tears, for one of the longest moments of her life.

Swallowing hard, she reached down and gently removed her hand from his, reluctantly resting it on the sheets. Hesitating only briefly, Sanna ran her fingers through his hair – slowly growing back to its previous length – and pressed a kiss to his temple.

“I miss you too, Theron.”


	7. Truths & Consequences

“Theron, thank you for arriving so quickly.” Lana glanced up at him as he entered the War Room.

“You said it was important,” the spy shrugged, “and Beywan didn’t mind tabling our discussion. What’s up?”

“You’re to report to the Commander immediately, in your quarters.” The Sith stood stiffly at rest, hands clasped behind her back.

“Did she say what this was about?” Theron asked, somehow managing to keep his expression and voice neutral, even as his mind raced through what felt like hundreds of different possibilities. His stomach flopped and his heart stuttered as both anxiety and hope settled into his chest.

“I informed Vassanna that you wished to speak with her.”

“Wait,  _what_? Lana, why the hells would you do that?” Theron hissed and ran a hand roughly through his hair as he scowled at the blonde. She confused him by answering with a small, sad smile.

“Because it’s true. And because you two need to sit down and  _talk_ to each other, like the mature adults that you both pretend to be.” Shrugging slightly, Lana continued, “And this is all that I can do to help you: force your hand and make you actually sit in the same room together with nowhere else to be until your discussion is finished. The rest is up to you.”

Theron stared incredulously at the Sith for a moment, her words taking time to sink in.

“Well, go on. ‘Time and tide’ and all that,” she said, waving him off with a hint of a smirk.

* * *

Sanna sat stiffly on the couch with her hands folded together in her lap, Jedi Mask firmly in place, and waited until the door closed behind Theron to speak.

“Lana said you wanted to talk to me.” Her voice was flat and distant; the optimism he’d felt upon entering the room began to fade, though he pressed on.

“I do.” He sat on the opposite couch, taking a deep breath. “I want– no, I  _need_ to explain.”

“You’ve already explained,” she said tersely, standing to leave and smoothing the front of her shirt to cover the shaking of her hands. “On more than one occasion, in fact. I don’t have time to hear the same story again.”

“That’s funny – Lana mentioned that your schedule’s clear,” Theron said with a raised eyebrow and a wry twist to his lips. Vassanna glared at him as she took a step towards the door. “No, wait,” he pleaded as he stood and grasped her elbow, meeting her hard gaze with a sigh. “Hear me out, just this once.”

She tugged out of his grip, bristling as she stabbed her finger at him. “How can you expect me to listen to  _anything_ you have to say to me?”

Theron caught her hand and pulled her towards him, knocking her off balance in more ways than one, and rested her palm flat on his chest. He covered her bare hand with his, holding it in place over his heart. “Please, Sanna…” Closing his eyes, he lowered the mental shields he had been trained since childhood to keep around himself. “Believe me.”

Vassanna wrenched her hand from beneath his, recoiling as though his touch had seared her skin. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to block out the distorted emotions she could sense from him, but it was near impossible: regret, sorrow, fear, frustration… and  _love_. So much love.

She shook her head in an attempt to clear it and tried to ignore his feelings – and her own.

“It doesn’t work like that, Theron. The Force, the bond we–” The Jedi’s lips pursed as she cut herself off, taking a deep breath. “They’re not lie detectors,” she huffed.

Resting her fisted hands on her hips, Sanna shook her head and muttered, “I should have known better; you’re a kriffing  _spy_. How  _stupid_ am I for believing you, for thinking you’d be honest with me?”

“Sanna–”

“Where did the lies  _stop_ , Theron?” she interrupted, pacing as every pent-up question she’d had since that day on Umbara tried to claw its way out of her throat at once. “Oh stars, where did they  _start_? Was  _everything_ you said to me a lie?”

“No, I swear. I–”

“What did I  _do_?” She was shaking and shouting at him, her Jedi control all but gone. “You said that you didn’t expect me to understand. Well, why not?  _Make_ me understand! Why did you do this? And why couldn’t you  _trust_ me?” Theron’s brows knitted together in confusion: he hadn’t expected Sanna to take issue with the amount of faith he had placed in  _her_.

“Of course I trust you, Sanna; I have since I recruited you for the attack on Korriban. Not to mention that I’ve trusted you with my  _life_ since Manaan.” Taking a leap of faith, he said, “I love you.”

His confession wasn’t appreciated by the Mirialan – she looked offended rather than moved by his declaration, arms crossed and a frown on her face.

“Oh, so you’ll trust me with your heart, but not with kriffing  _intel_ , not with this op? You should have brought me in on this sooner; why didn’t you?”

Memories assaulted him: the pity in Marcus’s eyes after Theron discovered that Marr’s fleet had been destroyed, Lorman’s ill-disguised glee over the wreck of Acina’s shuttle, the dozens of other close calls that he and Sanna had over their time together. Finally, a vision of what the Order of Zildrog had planned for her flashed before his eyes and he snapped.

“I was trying to  _protect_ you, dammit!”

“I didn’t need your protection, Theron, I needed  _you_. And in case you’ve forgotten, I was a kriffing Jedi Battlemaster at one point; I can defend myself,” she snarled and he sighed, deflated.

“I know you can, but–”

“No, don’t you dare give me that line again about watching my back – you can’t watch my back when you’re  _not here_ ,” she countered with narrowed eyes, anger and contempt dripping from her words. “And leaving me in the dark? Tell me, how does that help me or protect me? How am I supposed to be an effective leader and keep my people safe without all the relevant information? This is hard enough as it is without you making me look like a fool!”

Theron’s hands went to his hips and he frowned, exasperated, and took a small amount of satisfaction in the surprise that flitted across her features with his next words.

“You’re right, okay? You’re right, I should have talked to you. I didn’t tell you because– because I was afraid,” he said, shoulders slumping. “If the Order knew that you were aware of what was going on, they would have moved forward with their plans. If they’d done that before I could stop them or undermine them, then the galaxy would have burned: Coruscant, Dromund Kaas, Zakuul – all of it.”

Theron’s answer seemed to placate her slightly; Sanna crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. He sighed and despite his best efforts, despair seeped into his next words.

“I know you, Sanna,” he continued. He gave her a small, but infinitely sad smile. “You’d have willingly walked into – you would have sacrificed your –” He broke off, swallowing hard, unable to even utter the words and he ran his hand along his jaw. “I would have lost you. Again. I… can’t do that.  _Couldn’t_ do that. So I couldn’t let you talk me out of it.”

“Well, you’re damned right that I’d have tried to talk you out of it. Going off alone was a bad idea, and dangerous as hells. You could have  _died_!” Vassanna shouted, hands fisted at her sides and blinking back tears.

“If I hadn’t gone, you  _would_ have.” Heartbreak was clear on Theron’s face and in his voice, but she was having none of it.

“How dare you,” she hissed, eyes flashing. “How  _dare_ you decide that your life was worth tossing away in exchange for mine. That’s not how this was supposed to work – we were supposed to be a  _team_.” Both were painfully aware that this was far from the first time they’d had this argument, though it was usually in reverse. Staring each other down for a long moment, Sanna turned away first, her head bowed.

“You said such  _horrible_ things to me.” Her sad, defeated tone shattered the remaining shards of his heart.

“I know,” he said in the soft voice he only used with her, “and I’m so sorry.” Theron reached for Vassanna’s hand, but she pulled back from him yet again. Disappointment filled his chest and he pushed it away. _She’s still here and we’re actually talking, so maybe things between us are still salvageable after all_ , he mused, and the thought heartened him.

“Please,  _please_ understand, Sanna. The Order was embedded in the Alliance far deeper than any of us thought at the beginning – they had people everywhere, and for a long time.

“I tried to leave you as many breadcrumbs as I could, as many hints as possible without tipping them off… even after you’d commed me. What I still can’t figure out is how the hells you not only found, but  _sliced_ my new comm frequency from across the galaxy. That was incredible,” he said, admiration clear in his tone.

Sanna looked down at his words, lips pursed as her tears finally overflowed and she dashed them away angrily. It took every bit of restraint that Theron had to keep from reaching out to comfort her; she had made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want any physical contact with him.

“They were observing me then, during our call,” Theron said quietly. “I had to do something to get you off the comm, to make the Order think that I wasn’t compromised. If it looked like I was, well… no one keeps a compromised agent around for long, Sanna. I had to lie to you make them think that I was truly done with the Alliance, with you… and hells, it hurt.”

Vassanna’s head snapped up and she stared at him, incredulous, lip curling into a sneer, twisting her face. “It hurt  _you_? How can you even– What do you think  _I_ –” The sob she was trying so hard to contain attempted to break free with a deep gasp. “You told me that my worst nightmares were  _real_ , Theron! You  _broke_ –” Vassanna’s mouth snapped shut and she crossed her arms over her chest again. His stomach sank as anger and grief transformed her face into a bitter caricature of the gentle woman he’d known for years.

If Theron had believed that his intuition was nudging and prodding at him before, then every instinct he had was screaming at him now. Frustration swept through him; something was very wrong and on the tip of his tongue, but he still couldn’t name it.

His mind dragged him back to Copero, standing in the shuttle next to Valss and prepping to leave; after she’d made that terrible train pun, Sanna had tried to reach out to him through their connection. He’d had to shut her out quickly – it was so very tempting to just run back to her, to hold her in his arms again – but her voice in his head had sounded distant, fuzzy, as though the reception was bad. At the time, he’d assumed it was her doing, that she’d muted or dampened their link somehow, but–

The vague, cold unease Theron had felt since he’d left Umbara snaked itself around his chest, lodging itself in his heart. As understanding settled in, his eyes grew wide and he stared at her in disbelief, wishing and hoping that he was wrong.

“What did I break?” Sanna’s gaze slid off to the side, avoiding him, and Theron fought down the urge to be sick. He grabbed her shoulders, trying to meet her eyes.

“Vassanna, please tell me – what’s broken?” he begged, voice raspy with dread. She looked through him, that blasted Jedi Mask securely back in place.

“Our bond.” Even though Theron had known in his heart what her answer would be, it still felt as though all the air in the room disappeared and the world tipped under his feet at her mumbled words. His hands fell away from her arms and he took a step backward, dazed. She swallowed hard and stared at the floor, tucking the edges of her cardigan tightly around herself, as she’d done so many times with his jacket.

“What have I done?” he murmured, sinking to the edge of the couch, head buried in his hands. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud and she offered no answer.

Time stretched out between them, blanketing the room in a heavy silence.

“Does it hurt?” Theron asked softly, looking up at Sanna with shining eyes. Any Force-sensitive being – bonded or not – could undoubtedly feel the remorse and self-loathing that rolled off of him, as well as the concern for her well-being. She shook her head, still avoiding his gaze.

“Not anymore. Now it’s just… numb.” She appeared to be intrigued by a loose thread on the cuff of her sleeve and he hung his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. After another long silence, Theron heaved a resigned sigh and took his datapad out of his coat pocket. With a few taps and swipes of his fingers, he did what needed to be done, what she deserved: he gave her space to heal and what little peace he could. It may have been at the cost of his own heart, but he felt it a worthy exchange, all things considered.

Before he came back to the Alliance, Theron had believed that he was prepared for Sanna to reject him; he’d done and said so many terrible things, after all, even if he hadn’t meant them and they were uttered to keep her safe. That hadn’t stopped him from foolishly hoping that he could make it up to her, but… not now. He’d done too much damage; no amount of “I’m sorry, but I only did this to save you,” could justify the devastation he’d caused.

Theron had always known that this was a possibility – he just hadn’t expected it to hurt so damned much.

He cleared his throat and swallowed, but the lump there was immovable; his voice came out sounding strangled, despite the effort he put into speaking. “I’ve arranged to be moved to my own quarters. Change of billets for senior staff still need your approval, though.”

There was no acknowledgment of his statement from Vassanna; she simply stood there, curled into herself, blank features unreadable.

Theron stood and tenderly pulled her arms out from around herself, gingerly placing the datapad into her hands, its blinking cursor happily awaiting her authorization code. He barely checked himself in time to keep from dropping a kiss on the top of her head.

The heartbroken spy turned and trudged up the stairs to the armoire, clenching his hands into fists to still their trembling.  _Fuck, this hurts. Just breathe, you can do this_ , he told himself as he heard her fingers tapping across the keypad. Swinging the door panel open, Theron pulled out the duffle he’d so recently emptied and unzipped it, reaching blindly for the handles of a drawer.

Packing his bag, Theron felt as displaced and adrift as he had at thirteen, tossed out of the Jedi enclave and utterly on his own. The future he’d spent his entire childhood envisioning had disappeared in a puff of smoke with a few simple sentences. Daydreams of the future he’d wanted to share with Sanna threatened to do the same and he scrambled to hide them away, not quite ready to let go of this dream.

His implants pinged with a notification regarding the status of his housing request and Theron blinked it away, archiving the message before he could see the confirmation of the end, of  _their_ end.  _You’ve gotta keep it together, Shan, just a bit longer_ , he thought.

“Denied.” It was a subdued, broken whisper and Theron froze, unable to breathe for a moment, the duffle slipping from his fingers to the floor.

“What?” he asked. He could barely move, let alone turn to look at her. Hope stubbornly blossomed in his chest again and he stomped it out, afraid that he was hearing things.

“Your request is denied, Agent Shan,” she said in a wavering voice, holding the datapad out to him. “You need to work on any issues with your roommate on your own. Moving out won’t help anything.”

Theron stared at her, agape, before managing to croak out, “Of course, Commander.” He made his way slowly to the edge of the raised bedroom, crouching before dropping down and crossing the room. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of the Jedi, as though she might disappear if he looked away. Pausing within arm’s reach, Theron took the datapad, fingers brushing hers, and tossed it on the sofa as he cleared his throat.

“There’s still a problem,” he said. Sanna’s eyelids fluttered closed and her jaw set in defeat at his words. “I want to make things right with her, Commander, but I don’t know how. Even if I knew how to fix it, I don’t know that I could; there’s a lot that’s broken.” Theron caught himself reaching for her and drew his hands back to himself. “And I’m worried that my roommate might not want things between us to be fixed. I hurt her – badly.”

Opening her eyes, she glanced past him at the mostly-empty duffle lying on the floor. Fighting back more tears, Sanna met his gaze.

“Stay. I–” Her voice was barely a whisper. “ _Stay_ , Theron.”

“Are you sure, Sanna?” She nodded, lip caught between her teeth, and his heart soared. “Yeah?” She nodded again and stepped closer to him with a gasping sob, taking his hand in hers and twining their fingers together.

“I don’t know how to do this, either, but we used to make a good team,” she said, sniffling, and swiped at the tears glistening on her cheeks. “We can figure this out together, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” Theron said, haltingly reaching out to cradle her cheek in his hand and brushing away a tear with his thumb. “I like that idea, very much.”

“Me, too,” Sanna said, struggling to find the right thing to say, to do. She settled for resting her hand on top of his, eyes drifting shut while she basked in the warmth of his skin for the first time in so very long. “I love you,” she whispered.

Theron couldn’t repress an odd combination of a sob and a laugh; it drew a concerned glance from Vassanna, and he let out a relieved huff.

“I was pretty damn sure I’d never hear you say that to me again,” Theron said, blinking away the tears that sprang up, unbidden. He hesitated for the briefest of moments before pressing his lips to her forehead, closing his eyes and willing this moment to be real and not a dream.

“I certainly  _tried_ not to love you after… after everything, but I couldn’t,” Sanna sniffled. “I failed spectacularly, in fact.”

“Is it wrong that I’m glad you failed?” Theron’s flippant question was met by a long pause. His anxiety spiked as he thought that perhaps, after all this, he’d undone everything with a careless remark.

“No,” she answered quietly, voice thick with tears. “I’m glad, too.” With a small smile tugging at his lips, Theron reached up to brush a stray wisp of hair out of her face.

“Oh stars, I’m such a hypocrite.” she choked out, turning away, hand pressed to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t tell you the whole story earlier.” Sanna glanced back with wild eyes to see the confusion on Theron’s features and rushed to explain. “I wanted to  _hurt_ you like you’d hurt me – what is  _wrong_ with me? I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m–” A whimper and hiccup broke off her rambling and Theron took a step closer, tenderly holding her face in the palms of his hands and pressing a kiss to her forehead again as his thumbs brushed her cheeks.

“No, sweetheart, you’re okay,” he said soothingly and tried not to worry about what had her so upset. “Shh, there’s nothing wrong with you, it’s alright. You can tell me now, whatever it is – if you want to, of course.”

Sniffling, Vassanna turned away and began to pace, fingers twisted together in front of her. Theron stood as patiently as he could while she worked out whatever was running through her mind and did his best to ignore the urge to kiss the frown from her features, the way he used to when she was worried. That won’t help anything, he scolded himself.

Sanna stopped abruptly in front of Theron, as though surprised by her own inability to stand still. Her mouth opened and closed a number of times as she struggled to find the right words.

“It’s still there,” the Mirialan blurted out, gesturing to the two of them and wiping away more tears. “The connection between us, I mean. It’s in pieces, but… from the minute you walked back into my life, the Force started repairing it, stitching it back together.” Panic flashed across her features and her hand subconsciously covered her heart as she met Theron’s eyes again.

“It scared me, and I– it hurt so much and I couldn’t do that again,” she whispered, shaking her head, “so I kept you at a distance, as best I could. I’m so sorry, I should have told you–”

Vassanna’s hands clamped over her mouth to smother a harsh, heart-wrenching cry she could no longer contain. Without a thought, Theron stepped forward to close the gap between them and wrapped his arms around her shaking shoulders, holding her tight. He fully expected her to pull away again and was elated to be wrong; instead, she burrowed her head in his chest and her arms wound around him, fingers grasping and clutching at the back of his shirt, as though unable to hold him close enough.

Cradling her head to his chest, Theron ran his other hand up and down and her spine, filled with both guilt and relief. Dropping a kiss on the top of her head, he murmured calming words and reassurances into her hair between sniffles of his own: how she had every right to feel the way she felt, to be angry and upset about what he’d done; there was nothing to be sorry for but he’d forgive her anything; that everything was going to be okay; that he loved her, oh he loved her so damned much; and how very, very sorry he was for everything he’d done to her and how badly he wanted to make things right.

As they stood clinging to the other, time ceased to exist and they both felt as though they were home at long last.

“Stop apologizing, Theron,” Sanna said softly, breaking the silence and leaning back slightly. She reached up and placed her cool hand on his cheek, scratchy with stubble. “I forgive you.”

Theron huffed out another laugh-sob of disbelief and tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear before kissing the crown of her head.

“Hells, I love you, Sanna,” he said, resting his forehead on hers, noses nuzzling.

“I love you too. I can’t promise–” She paused and took a deep, calming breath before meeting his amber eyes.

“This might not be easy for me sometimes, Theron. I spent so much time questioning  _everything_ and I’m having a hard time letting go of the hurt, the anger. I know that I should, I know that I  _need_ to, and I’m trying, I  _am_ , but…” The Jedi bit her lip as her words trailed off and he nodded, his thumb tracing her jaw.

“I understand. I won’t ask you to –”

Before Theron could finish his sentence, Sanna had twined her arms around the back of his neck and tilted her face up, tugging him to her and capturing his lips with her own, effectively stopping his words and any thoughts of taking things slowly.

* * *

Across the base, a notification popped up on Lana’s datapad:

 _Change of housing request: Shan, Theron_  
From: Aurek-0001  
To: Cresh-0312  
Authorized by: T. Shan  
Pending Command approval…

The blonde Sith sat with bated breath, frowning at the blinking cursor with no small amount of concern – and hope – for her two friends.

“Oh, don’t you two  _dare_ be stubborn idiots about this,” she muttered. “Just  _talk_ to each other, for Force’s sake. Work this out.”

A small, hissed “yes” escaped the Sith as she saw the request had been rejected. With a pleased smirk, she cleared both Theron and Sanna’s schedules for the next day.

**Author's Note:**

> All chapters beta'd by the lovely andveryginger. Any errors are my own, because I can't stop poking at the parts that I don't like.


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